


For This

by minglingcrab



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Library Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-28
Updated: 2010-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-06 18:34:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minglingcrab/pseuds/minglingcrab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"You're supposed to be mingling, Kris."</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	For This

**Author's Note:**

> For kradamite, for Haiti. Her prompt is in the summary.

Long, cool fingers slide under his shirt, press flat against his back, then curl around his waist; a body presses against him from behind, trapping his forehead against the chilly window pane.  Outside, the pool gleams, dark and glassy and flecked with moonlight.

“You’re supposed to be mingling, Kris,” Adam says, biting his ear—not softly.  Kris exhales and leans his head back onto Adam’s shoulder, leans into the concentrated kisses that Adam is laying down the side of his neck.

He’d _been _mingling.  And now he’s taking a break.

Not sure why, though.  It’s Adam’s party, and it’s not a big deal, just a bunch of Adam’s friends who are _sort_ of Kris’s friends too, by now.  It’s kind of awkward and kind of weirdly nice that Adam likes him to be _everywhere_ at these things—co-hosting by default or some boyfriend rule like that; but Kris doesn’t really mind it or anything.  He likes Adam’s-friends-who-are-sort-of-Kris’s-friends-by-now-too.  Maybe it’s just that it takes an effort he isn’t used to making.  Back home, it’s kind of like everybody knows to get the beer from the fridge out back themselves if they want it.

It hasn’t even been a busy week—less busy than some, anyway—but it isn’t just work that’s exhausting anymore.  He isn’t complaining, not even close, but the stupidest advice he’s ever given anyone would have to be all those _just be yourself _sound bites for _Idol_; not because it isn’t true, but because of how glib he'd sounded, saying it.

The nice thing, though, is that Adam doesn’t seem to care about the party anyway—he hardly ever does, he just likes to throw these things so he can show off the house—tugging Kris in close to his chest and backing him up slowly, thigh to thigh.  Adam smells like citrus and nighttime and clean wood; although maybe that’s just the room. 

“Have you figured out what you’re going to use this room for yet?”  Kris pulls back to look at Adam.  The rest of the house is _definitely _Adam's through and through, already—Adam had loved it on sight and had been happy and silly and ridiculous for months, decorating it, with Kris along for the ride—but this room is still mostly empty.  Not that Adam doesn’t like books, but he still doesn’t exactly need two whole walls just to hold all of his.

Kris’s back hits something, the smooth, curved edges of the empty shelves snapping under his shoulder blades and his ass, and across his knees.  Adam looks down at him consideringly.

“For this, maybe,” he says, bending Kris backwards. 

Kris’s spine rounds into the right angle of the shelf under him and the wall behind him; his heels are in the air and his toes dig into the carpet, scrabbling for purchase, but Adam presses him down further, leaning in, and Kris kicks his legs up and wraps them around Adam’s waist.

“Are you staying tonight?” Adam says, scraping his teeth along Kris’s collar bone.  Adam always asks him that, like Kris is going to do anything but shrug at him.  If he feels like going home, he will, but he usually doesn’t.  He’s too tired most of the time, and he likes it here, even if he’ll like it even better once everybody else leaves.

“I don’t know.”  He arches up under Adam’s hands, biting his lip to keep from making too much noise.  “Probably,” he pants, low, when he can.

“Mm.”  Adam studies him for a moment and then pushes up his shirt, places his hands on Kris’s stomach, and kisses him hard.  His tongue is brutal in Kris’s mouth, pushing fast, bringing him right up to the edge quicker than he’d known he was ready to get there.  One hand is already cupping him, thumb working him, unhurriedly but with purpose—and Kris chokes on a moan and pushes up into Adam’s hand, already filling up with boiling, scorching_ need _for Adam, needing faster, needing _more_—

“I want you right here,” Adam says, almost roughly, the usual sweetness and music gone from his voice.  It makes Kris shiver under his skin, the way Adam sounds when they—when they—Kris blinks up at Adam, tightens his knees on Adam’s waist as Adam holds him up against the unreliable backing of the shelves.  Adam looks him over, hungry almost like he still isn’t allowed to touch, and then licks the sweat from Kris’s eyelashes.

Kris pulls Adam’s head down and kisses him.  “I’m here,” he breathes against Adam’s lips, and they’re moving again, rocking against each other in that same slow but powerful pace that Adam set before.  “I’m here.”


End file.
